


Odds On

by sterlinglee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fukurodani - Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlinglee/pseuds/sterlinglee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto gets it into his head that the best way to congratulate Akaashi on becoming a regular is to bake him a cake, and he enlists his teammates to help.  This goes about as well as could be expected.<br/><br/><em>“Friends don’t let friends maim themselves in kitchen accidents.”</em><br/><br/><em>“Yeah, sure,” Konoha conceded.  “But do you know how to bake?  I sure as hell don’t.”</em><br/> <br/><em>“I have a smartphone,” Komi said.  “It’s almost the same thing.”</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Odds On

“I’ll bet money this turns out to be a gay thing,” Konoha said, while Bokuto was occupied putting his face too close to the bag of flour and breaking into a coughing fit. 

Komi shrugged. “What, deciding he wants to bake a cake makes Bokuto gay?”

“Baking a cake for Akaashi _specifically_ , that makes him gay. For Akaashi. I have 100 yen on me right now, how does that sound?”

“It sounds like a violation of the no-gambling rule coach added to the list of stuff we’re not allowed to do when we get bored in the offseason,” Sarukui said, looming up behind them with the usual mild, friendly look on his face. Konoha flinched, and tried to look like he hadn’t. 

Komi looked thoughtful. “But does it really count if it wasn’t printed in the official book—”

“Ring binder,” Konoha interjected helpfully.

“—Ring binder of offseason sins? I mean, he had to add it on a sticky note because the binder got too full. I think we can argue for a loophole there.”

“Or just, y’know, not get caught,” Konoha said. Sarukui rolled his eyes, but before he could reply, Bokuto bounded across the kitchen and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey heey, you guys can’t slack off now! Komi, check that bottom cabinet for, uh,” he spun to consult the cookbook open on the counter, “some baking powder. Hey, does anyone know what the difference between baking soda and baking powder is?”

“For the last time, wouldn’t it be better to _buy_ Akaashi a cake? We could get a birthday one, and get them to write, um, ‘congratulations on getting picked for the starting lineup too’ on it. They do that kind of stuff.” Sarukui didn’t look especially hopeful as he spoke. He’d posed roughly the same question three times that morning.

“I _told_ you, this is a serious occasion,” Bokuto said. “He’s a first year, it’s his birthday, _and_ he gets to be our official setter starting soon! We’ve gotta do this ourselves, it sends a message.” He smacked Sarukui’s back and dragged him away to discuss proper pan-greasing methods.

Konoha watched Bokuto accidentally elbow a ring of measuring cups off the counter and execute a haphazard, lightning-fast contortion to trap them between his forearm and hip before they hit the floor. “Remind me why we’re here again,” he said.

“Didn’t you hear? Akaashi’s our teammate, so this should be a team effort,” Komi said innocently. “Friends don’t let friends maim themselves in kitchen accidents, also.”

“Yeah, sure,” Konoha conceded. “But do _you_ know how to bake? I sure as hell don’t.”

“I have a smartphone,” Komi said. “It’s almost the same thing.”

It turned out to be kind of a different thing. The internet was deeply divided on topics such as “the recipe says whole milk but can we just use 1% I mean it’s right there in the fridge,” and “how is ‘beating’ different from ‘whipping’ or even plain old stirring, anyway?” Sarukui could be seen gazing into the batter with a look of quiet resignation on his face.

Konoha spent less time helping to cook or clean and more time texting status reports to Washio, who had probably gotten the better end of the deal when his dad press-ganged him into cleaning the gutters. Bokuto, however, forged ahead with enthusiasm. “You gotta admit it smells pretty good!” he announced after the cake had been in the oven for about twenty minutes. “…You think that makes up for the color?” 

Komi reflected on the events of the past half hour, which included two flour spills, an argument about butter versus margarine that caused them to miss when the oven finished preheating, and the nonstandard addition of almonds and peanut butter chips to the chocolate batter. “I think we have other stuff to worry about,” he said.

While the cake was baking, Konoha vanished and was later found putting all of Bokuto’s video game cases in backwards alphabetical order, with breaks to spell out phrases with game titles. Sarukui fell asleep on the couch, so Komi and Bokuto were the only ones in the kitchen when the smoke started coming from the oven.

“Shit, you think we should turn it off?” Komi said, peering into the smoke-hazed oven window.

“Pretty sure that’s not part of the recipe,” Bokuto agreed, and cautiously tipped open the door.

Blackish smoke roiled out of the oven, accompanied by the smell of burned sugar and a hissing, crackling noise. Coughing, Komi waved the smoke out of his face and jumped back as the pan on the baking rack spat a small gout of flame at him. “Fucking hell,” he said, in unison with but not quite as loudly as Bokuto. They stood there for a moment, bent over and watching a layer of thick, sugary goo blacken and flame on top of the cake.

Some of it bubbled and slopped over the side of the pan, where it landed with a smoky splat on the bottom of the oven. Sparks jumped, and Bokuto jumped back. “What did we even do,” he said in wonder. Seeing that he was still stuck in the processing stage, Komi nudged him aside and grabbed the pan with a pair of metal tongs. This was maybe not the best idea, but he’d said it, hadn’t he? He had no idea how to bake. He turned on the sink with his free hand and held the former cake under the stream until the fire went out.

“Awh, what did you do that for?” Bokuto groaned. “Damn, it’s totally ruined.”

“…Konoha has cash,” Komi said. “Is there a bakery around here?”

The following day, Akaashi looked down at the small cardboard box in his hands. There was a small, pretty, stupidly expensive cake in there, accompanied by a significantly less nice card because Konoha was “not made of money, come on, I have actual needs. You can’t expect me to save my allowance to hand out to you people.”

“You aren’t allergic to gluten, are you?” Bokuto asked Akaaashi, his tone making it clear that he had only just remembered this might be a problem. “Or, like—Saru, what else? Chocolate? Peanuts? Eggs? Are people even allergic to eggs?”

“I saw him get omurice at the lunch counter today,” Konoha cut in. “Let’s watch and see if he has a fit.”

“This was…really nice of you guys,” Akaashi said, sounding uncertain. “It means a lot. Thank you.” Bokuto beamed. Konoha drew breath to say something snide, but Komi jabbed him in the ribs because Akaashi was turning pink, and looking at Bokuto and the rest of them with probably the closest approximation of tenderness that he could manage. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, glancing at his feet. 

“It’s okay, you don’t need to make a speech!” Bokuto hooted, crowding close and clapping him on the shoulder. “We understand, it means a whole lot to know your senpai are looking out for you! But don’t sweat it, just give it your all when you get on the court!” 

Akaashi swayed under his weight, and a weird mixture of annoyance and relief crossed his face. “Thank you, Bokuto-san,” he said more decisively, which really meant, _Now get off of me._

“Come on, you want to put some money on it?” Konoha asked Komi, as Bokuto tried to drape himself over Akaashi’s shoulders so he could point out the place where he’d signed the card. “My offer still stands.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Komi said, grinning. “Find another way to get your cash back.”

**Author's Note:**

> a throwaway line in my bokuaka fic [_Maybe We're Airborne, Baby_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1610465), underwent spontaneous mutation, and this is the result.


End file.
